Cold Case
by arainymonday
Summary: "So you caught the Cold case." He laughs at his own pun. Barry's eyes roll to the ceiling. He's in for a long, long, long string of puns if he doesn't nip this in the bud. Written for Coldflash Week 2016, Day Four: Meta!Len


**Title:** Cold Case **  
Rating:** PG-13 **  
Warnings:** none **  
Pairings:** Barry/Len **  
Spoilers:** none

* * *

 **Cold Case**

Barry rolls his aching shoulder after he sits his bag down on the lab table. The forensic collection kit is a massive weight to lug around, especially when half of the evidence is encased in ice. He definitely has enough physical material to work with this time, though. It's going to be a breeze, really. The perp left his shoes behind. They're covered in ice right now, but once they thaw out, he'll be able to give Joe all the leads he needs to track down this guy.

His desk chair has never looked so inviting. He collapses into it and spins around once, just long enough to take a few breaths before he begins processing the evidence. He slams his feet down on the floor to stop his movement when he sees the card on his desk. His heart redoubles its beating. The card is dark blue, almost black, with a shimmering snowflake on the front. When he touches the fine crystalline fractals, it melts under the heat of his fingers. He flips over the card.

 _8:30pm_

Barry leaps up from his desk and races out the door. He nearly trips as he heads down the staircase and again when he bursts out of the front doors of the CCPD. It's already 8:35pm. He won't wait for Barry forever. Fortunately, their spot is close to the precinct. Barry can make it in ten minutes at a full run. The rickety metal stairs scaling the alley walls protest Barry's rapid ascent. His lungs revolt too. He emerges onto the rooftop sweaty and breathless.

"Aren't you a pretty sight."

The innuendo goes unnoticed for a moment, and even when Barry does recognize it, his blush is hidden by the heat already in his cheeks. The hero of Central City stands silhouetted by streetlights and the illuminated windows dotted throughout the highrises of downtown. His form-fitting, dark blue suit, hood, and goggles conceal his identity, but Barry has come to know him by his posture, gait, and speech patterns.

"Captain Cold," Barry says. He still sounds breathless. "I didn't get back to my lab until late."

"It's okay, Barry. I don't expect you to be on time anymore."

He can breathe a little easier now that he's standing still. The flush hasn't left his cheeks, though, and it won't while he's in the presence of Captain Cold.

"You waited for me."

"I wanted to know if the new methods work better for you."

"Oh," Barry says. He tries not to feel too disappointed. Their interactions have ultimately been about justice, not about seeing each other. "Yeah. The ice didn't destroy any forensics this time. Um, thanks for figuring something out."

Captain Cold cocks his head to the side. "Disappointed by the shop talk, honey?"

Barry rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest. Anything to ward off the humiliation his crush will bring to him.

It's just coincidence that he's gotten this close to Captain Cold anyway. Joe caught the first case after Cold started his vigilante protection of the city, and he'd called Barry to collect the evidence. They hadn't known then if Cold was the good guy or the bad guy, but Barry had figured it out from the angle of the frost pattern. He'd been in pursuit, not pursued. The vindication had earned him some gratitude and attention from Cold.

"Thanks again," Barry says. He gestures to the staircase. "I should ... go ... process that evidence now."

"I thought I'd get a bigger reward for making your job easier. Don't get me wrong, Barry. Getting to look at the prettiest face in the CCPD is nice, but ..."

Barry's scoffs. Over the last eleven months, he's steeled himself against the way Cold talks like he's teasing. "Please. If you think I'm the prettiest CCPD has to offer, you've forgotten about Eddie Thawne and Leonard Snart."

Cold doesn't reply right away, which is unusual for him. "Have a good night, Barry. Stay safe."

o

Barry heads back to his lab and settles in for a long night of processing evidence. Forensics is a lot of waiting for test results, so Barry makes his way down to the break room for a cup of coffee while he waits for a solvent of his own creation to melt the meta-ice from the evidence a little faster.

CCPD after dark is surrealism at its height. The criminals are scarier, but more subdued. Some of the regulars chat with the detectives about the Central City Stars or plans to upgrade the boathouse along the waterfront. A couple of them are asleep where they're cuffed to their chairs.

"Don't CSIs go home at six?"

Detective Snart blocks Barry's path to the new Keurig someone procured when they got sick of burnt and stale coffee. He's wearing his usual uniform of black jeans, blue button up, and badge, gun, and cuffs at his hip. Barry wishes he hadn't admitted out loud less than hour ago that he finds this man attractive. There's no denying that he's handsome, maybe even moreso now that his hair is more gray than black, but he's also so painfully awkward. Everyone knows about the on call schedule.

"I'm on call tonight."

"So you caught the Cold case."

He laughs at his own pun. Barry's eyes roll to the ceiling. He's in for a long, long, _long_ string of puns if he doesn't nip this in the bud. He pops a canister into the Keurig and drums his fingers on the counter while he waits for his mug to brew.

"Yeah, it looks like a pretty open and shut one. Finally."

"Right. The chilly bastard kept destroying all the evidence."

"Don't call him that!" Barry snaps. "He risks his life to protect this city, just like you."

"Didn't mean to offend. Was just trying to make conversation."

That's difficult for Snart, clearly. He couldn't carry a decent conversation to save his life. Barry takes a breath and a beat to add some sugar to his coffee. He feels a little bad for Snart, honestly. He's the son of a crooked cop and Barry knows what it's like to get the looks and suspicion for something outside of his control.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I'm kind of sensitive about Cold. I know him."

"How well?"

Barry laughs. It's the first question everyone always asks him. "I don't know his identity or anything. But we talk sometimes."

He feels the grin on his face like a confession. It stubbornly refuses to budge despite his best efforts to work a mask of neutrality onto his face.

"Allen -"

There's a bang down the hallway, but thankfully more like a slamming door than a gunshot. He's had training in audito evidence, so he recognizes the sound easily, but Snart leaves in a rush to check it out anyway.

Barry picks up Snart's abandoned coffee mug, thinking he'll drop it off at Snart's desk, but the coffee and the mug itself is ice cold. The ceramic feels like it's been inside a freezer. Barry's mind is hardwired to observe, and in the span of only a few seconds, he's calculated that the temperature in the room has risen five degrees since Snart left, Snart's height and build, the gaps in his schedule, the -

"Allen?"

Instinct takes over, tamping down whatever wild theory Barry's mind had been spiralling towards. Barry gestures with the coffee mug, "I was going to bring you your coffee, but it's stone cold."

Snart doesn't say anything for half a beat. It's so reminiscent of the pause after Barry mentioned Snart to Captain Cold that he almost gives his analytical side free rein to conjecture. "I let you use the Keurig first."

"That was nice."

"I can be sometimes."

"Yeah, you can be," Barry says. He's not sure why he's smiling, but it feels natural. "Have a good night, Snart. Stay safe."


End file.
